Now I think the importance of the nut industry must come to the general public in that way, through the stomach rather than through the mind. The human mind is a marvelous piece of mental machinery, so is the machine which sets type or weaves fine cloth, yet both are powerless unless the fire pot under the engine, or the stomach of the man, are kept filled with fuel or food. I have heard very old men tell of the prejudice which existed against coal, years ago, in New England, when attempts were made to introduce the new fuel. Cord wood was the local fuel, people knew what it was, and its preparation provided a local industry. The introduction of coal meant destruction for this local business of wood cutting, and wiped out the value of many a farm. Coal had to win its way against prejudice and local interest, and it only won out by showing power. I am sure that 75 years ago, if some visionary Yankee had said that coal would be so freely used in New England that cord wood would be almost unsaleable, the public would surely have given him that honorary title which goes with prospective and persistent knowledge, "nut." In like manner the importance of nut growing will not be truly recognized until we can show a man in the most practical way that nuts provide the energy to be found in beef steak. It is said that knowledge creates an atmosphere in which prejudice cannot live. I know an old man who is absolutely settled in his conviction that New England has degenerated because her people have given up eating baked beans and cod fish balls, and introduced the sale of these delicacies in the West. That man says, with convincing logic, that in the old days when New England lived on brown bread and baked beans, we produced statesmen on every rocky hillside, and we dominated the thought of the nation. Now, he says, we have not developed one single statesman since the canned baked bean industry took our specialty away from us. The only way to convince him is to produce a dozen statesmen out of men who are willing to subscribe to a diet of nuts. I have a friend who says he feels like throwing a brick every time he passes a modern laundry. He says the invention of the linen collar kept him a poor man. His grandfather invested the family fortune in the stock of a paper collar factory. Many of our older men remember the time when we all wore paper collars, and bought them by the dozen in boxes. It seemed like a sure thing when the old man put all his money into it. He figured that by 1915 there would be 40,000 people in this country, each one wearing at least 200 paper collars a year, something like the hound and the hare, perhaps, but he didn't know that the hare in this case would drop dead, and the hound double his jump, as happened to paper and linen collars. Some one invented the modern linen collar. The laundry service started up, and paper collars disappeared with the family fortune. Now, my friend must